


happiness

by noyabeans (snowdrops)



Series: writing with snowdrops (timeskip arc) [8]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Author's Favorite, Canon Compliant, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, MSBY Black Jackals - Freeform, Missing Scene, Relationship Study, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22530577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowdrops/pseuds/noyabeans
Summary: Osamu and Atsumu grow up and apart, but never too far.Contains spoilers for the current manga arc, up to chapter 381.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou & Miya Atsumu, Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu, Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu
Series: writing with snowdrops (timeskip arc) [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1608889
Comments: 20
Kudos: 440





	1. Chapter 1

The day Atsumu plays his V-League debut match with the Asahi Wolves, Osamu arrives at the Wing Arena Kariya to the sight of food stands lining the entrance. Looming above the crowds is the prominent signboard of _tebasaki_ , Nagoya’s famous chicken wings. A natural choice — popular local specialty, suitable for a light snack. The fact that there’s a drinks stall set up right next to it makes it even better — _tebasaki_ and beer go well together. Definitely something to keep in mind in future.

He’s not hungry now, though; he’d prepared a lunchbox of his usual pre-match onigiri and had eaten some on the train. The yellow-black flag of the Wolves is flying proudly up above the packed stands, so he pulls his cap lower over his face and makes his way towards it.

There’s a girl giving out game brochures at the top of the stairs. When he approaches, she smiles politely, but when she lays eyes on his face, she freezes a little. He sees her eyes flick subtly down to the brochure in her hand. He offers a quiet smile and accepts the brochure she hands him with a word of thanks and no further explanation. The last thing he wants is Atsumu to somehow catch wind of him being here.

Looking for one good seat in a home game is much easier than looking for two decent ones, Osamu quickly learns as he finds one in the second row. It’s almost been a year now, but things like this still feel a little strange sometimes — taking the train alone, sitting by himself in the crowded stands. It’s not easy to unlearn eighteen years of having someone perpetually by your side, and now that he is actually _here_ , it feels even weirder, that he should be at a volleyball game alone. Not even the bench, but on the stands, as a nameless face on the sidelines.

There’s some time before the players enter and the game starts, so he glances at the brochure he’d picked up earlier. As he’d suspected, Atsumu is on the front page, with what is clearly intended to be a cool and aloof smirk plastered on his face. Osamu rolls his eyes. What a tryhard.

It’s not a game brochure, he realises a moment later — it’s a team brochure for the Wolves, introducing all of the members on this season’s lineup, complete with photographs and their competition achievements.

 _**#18 Miya Atsumu, Setter  
**_ _1995.10.05  
_ _185cm, 71kg  
_ _Fingertip Height: 240cm  
_ _Jumping Reach: 340cm  
_ _Hometown: Hyogo  
_ _School: Inarizaki High School  
_ _Year Joined: 2014_

 _Notable Achievements:  
_ _Inter-High School Championships — 2nd Runner-Up (2011)  
_ _64th Spring High School Volleyball Championships — 2nd Runner-Up (2012)  
_ _Inter-High School Championships — 1st Runner-Up (2012)  
_ _Inter-High School Championships — Best Server (2012)  
_ _Inter-High School Championships — Best Setter (2012)  
_ _Inter-High School Championships — 2nd Runner-Up (2013)_  
_66th Spring High School Volleyball Championships — Champion (2014)  
_ _66th Spring High School Volleyball Championships — Best Setter (2014)_

Osamu can’t help the smile that blooms at the word _Champion_. The memory of that last Spring High match is still clear in his mind — they’d made it all the way into the final round, and they’d fought hard and long through it.

Then they’d won, against all odds, against Itachiyama, no less. The disbelief, the sheer surreality — to be crowned champions at the splitting of their ways, what more could they have asked for?

That was the last time he stood next to his brother on the court.

He dumped his decision onto Atsumu’s lap one day in the winter of their second year, a week or so after Atsumu came back from the youth camp. They were fighting that day, after a shitty practice — Atsumu had gotten even more insufferable for some reason, even more demanding than usual, and in the heat of the argument Atsumu had said something along the lines of _Like hell I’m gonna toss to a scrub like ya when we go pro! I don’t need a spiker like ya!_

It was hardly the first time Atsumu had said those words to him, but cold simmering fury and frustration had boiled over. “I’m not goin’ pro, so sure, ya ain’t gonna have a spiker like me.”

Atsumu froze, going absolutely stock-still and silent, and Osamu wondered when the last time he saw Atsumu so speechless was. This wasn’t how he’d wanted to tell Atsumu, but telling Atsumu this in any other way would have resulted in the same reaction. It was inevitable the moment he accepted his truth; he’d thought about it long enough, mulled over the roads that the future could bring him, and he’d known that this was his only answer.

Atsumu grabbed him by the collar, hissing, “Yer kiddin’.” That had been cold too, his voice trembling. “Quit fuckin’ around with me, ‘Samu!”

“I’m not. I already told ya I was thinking of quittin’ after high school—”

“Ya said ya were _thinkin’ ‘bout going to university instead of the League_ , what the fuck—” Atsumu’s fists clenched in his shirt, his voice cracking. “What the _fuck_ else are ya gonna do, huh? Doesn’t volleyball make ya happy?”

“Maybe I want to find out what _else_ makes me happy, fucker,” Osamu snapped, clawing at Atsumu’s arms. Who was his brother to define happiness on his behalf?

Just last week in Atsumu’s absence, he’d cooked for their parents, then made some onigiri for the team to eat during practice. He’d played around with the ingredients, so they’d played onigiri roulette, and it had been _fun_. The anticipation of every bite, the disgust on Suna’s face when he bit into a wasabi-filled onigiri, the pleased smile on Kita-san’s when he found the umeboshi hidden in his — Osamu had felt that rush of happiness he would never get from volleyball.

Volleyball was fun; the cheers after a good spike were exhilarating, the moment of a win was always so satisfying in its completeness. But the faces of those who ate his food, the meals that he had carefully put together — that was better. That an unassuming onigiri could conceal such delightful surprises. That a plain-looking curry could be bursting with so much flavour.

This was a happiness he couldn’t find in volleyball, but he knew too keenly the cost. It lay in his brother’s silence, his wide eyes, his shaking hands, the shuddering breaths he was heaving.

Osamu’s grip tightened on Atsumu’s shirt. Of course he was frustrated. Of course he was angry. They were _twins_ , a pair, they’d done everything together. Why did he feel like he was betraying his brother for his own happiness? Why was it that volleyball, the one constant they’d had for their entire lives, would be the thing that tore them apart? Why was it that he would be the one crushing Atsumu’s dreams with his bare hands?

And of course he knew of Atsumu’s dreams. He’d shared them with Osamu before, on a hot summer night when the windows were open and both of them had lain awake. Osamu had been on the upper bunk, eyes tracing the shapes in the ceiling as Atsumu outlined his dreams of them conquering the volleyball world, of them standing on the Olympic court.

All of that, turned to dust, burned to ashes.

The Asahi Wolves play a good game. Atsumu plays well, though Osamu knows he’s not at his best. He’s seen Atsumu’s best — he’d seen it during their last match against Itachiyama, the way Atsumu didn’t seem to think at all with the tosses he sent and the saves he made, the wild smile on his face whenever they pulled the monster quick, or the smug smirk when he played a dump. This Atsumu that Osamu’s watching — he’s a little more reserved, a little more restrained with his plays. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that he’s the youngest and newest member on the team.

“...Hey, the Wolves’ new setter, he’s not much, is he?” someone says behind him when the court is getting readied for the last set. “I heard he was kinda a big shot back in high school, but doesn’t it feel like Uchiyama-san was better?”

“Yeah,” another voice says. “I heard he used to play with his twin brother, they were really good together. But his brother didn’t go pro with him, for whatever reason.”

“Hu~h, maybe he was only good with his twin...” the first voice says, trailing off.

Osamu unclenches his jaw, biting back the urge to interrupt and make a scene. Atsumu hasn’t shown them even half of what he’s capable of.

Three days later, the cold war stretching between himself and Atsumu had not waned in the slightest. It wasn’t just throwing him off his game, it was affecting Atsumu, and by extension the entire team’s performance. Suna had once joked that nothing ever threw Atsumu off his game, because Atsumu never cared enough about anyone else to be upset, but this was quickly getting disproved with how shoddy his plays had been the last few days.

But what? What could Osamu say to make amends? “I changed my mind, I’ll go pro with you?” That wasn’t what Atsumu would want to hear, nor what Osamu would ever say. Apologise? For wanting to take his own happiness? No way in hell. If Atsumu was going for his own happiness by pursuing volleyball, then there was no way Osamu was going to give up his own.

In the end, that was what it all boiled down to, right? They were just looking for their own happiness, weren’t they? Who was to say his happiness was not the same as Atsumu’s?

Something about the empty, hollow look in Atsumu’s eyes, coupled with the growing frustration in his own chest, exploded all at once.

“If yer so damn confident— if yer so damn _sure_ that yer gonna be the happier one, then come back to me when we’re 80-year-old geezers,” he hissed, anger bitter in his throat that the world should make them come to this. He pulled Atsumu up by the collar, hating the way Atsumu didn’t even bother putting up a fight. “Tell me then that ya made the right choice and that yer happier.”

A challenge. It was what both of them had thrived on their entire lives. They’d never found _comfort_ in playing together, only derived joy in outdoing each other. Even on the same team, they were each other’s biggest rivals, and that didn’t need to change, as long as he shifted their goalposts.

There it was, the spark that went off in Atsumu’s eyes, the glare he earned for his trouble and the angry fist at his neck. “If that’s how ya want it, _fine_. When we’re on our deathbeds I’m gonna turn and tell ya in the face, that I was the one who lived the happier life!”

When the match ends with victory for the Wolves — with a service ace from Atsumu, no less — Osamu can’t help the tiny swell of pride in his chest at the shocked gasp that ripples through the audience.

He doesn’t stay in the stands while they’re preparing for the awards ceremony, and heads down instead to the team area, where the Wolves and their coach are gathered in a post-match huddle. Perfect timing. He’ll just hand it to their manager and go before Atsumu is done.

He catches the eye of a man who looks like their manager with a small wave, and the man’s just walking over — no doubt his face is very helpful in being recognised at this point in time — when there’s a shout from behind him.

“‘SAMU!”

The manager jumps. Osamu is distinctly aware of what feels like the whole team and cheer squad suddenly turning in his direction, and grimaces. So much for subtlety.

Atsumu jumps the freaking barrier — he _jumped the barrier into the audience area_ , what the fuck, Osamu thinks to himself in dismay — and then slings his arm over Osamu, a stupid big smile plastered on his face. He’s sticky and covered in sweat and absolutely _gross_ , but the act itself is so familiar and nostalgic, just like what they’d always done back when they played together, that Osamu doesn’t even have the heart to push him off.

Instead, he just shoves the bento box at Atsumu. “Take.”

“Not even a congratulations? Harsh, ‘Samu,” Atsumu says, but his smile is growing even bigger as he takes the box from him. Osamu just rolls his eyes, squirming out from under his hold. Congratulations, for Atsumu? Shit like that never mattered, not when Atsumu was always destined to win.

“I ate half of the box. Wash it before ya return it.” _The half that wasn’t tuna mayo onigiri._

Two days after their fight in the gym, the bedroom door slammed open at eight in the evening. It was a Sunday, but Atsumu had been out all day, doing god-knows-what. Maybe he’d been studying with Suna and Ginjima. Maybe running drills with Aran-san. He could’ve been out on a date with Kita-san for all Osamu knew.

Osamu ignored him, working steadily instead on the economics homework they’d been assigned for winter break. He could feel Atsumu’s eyes on him, weighing heavy on his back.

“‘Samu,” Atsumu said. It was the first time he’d spoken to Osamu since Friday, and the first time all week he’d used a civil tone.

Osamu kept writing.

A sigh from the doorway, from which Atsumu had not moved since he entered. “‘Samu, play with me?”

Phrased like that, it felt like they were seven years old again and playing volleyball for the first time. Back then, it was Osamu, not Atsumu, who had asked the question — “Atsumu, let’s go play!” “Atsumu, I wanna play.” “Atsumu, d’ya wanna play wimme?”

He set down his pen with a click. He was done fighting, if Atsumu was. And Atsumu was, if the tired, hesitant sound of his question was anything to go by.

“Yeah, okay.”

-

Their usual court was in use by a bunch of middle-schoolers, so they ended up not playing at all. Osamu wandered over to the empty bench under the giant tree at the corner of the court, Atsumu next to him. They sat in silence, watching as the boys played — there, a decent serve that ended up on the wrong side of the line; there, a toss that was a little too low but a spiker who made the most of it.

“I want to be angry,” Atsumu said all of a sudden, as the boys gathered at the net to change groupings. “I want so much to be angry.”

Now this was new. Between the two of them, Atsumu was never the honest one. Atsumu was the one who kept everything behind smarmy grins and non-committal handwaves, letting everything roll off his back as though he didn’t care. Maybe he really never did. The only honesty he’d ever shown was that he was an asshole through and through. God knows why the girls in high school ate that attitude up.

He stayed silent, eyes trained on the boys in the middle of the court, but his attention all on the one next to him.

“Y’know what I hate most? I can’t even say yer gonna regret it. ‘Cos I know ya. Yer not gonna regret it. I don’t want ya to regret it, either. But I—”

-

Later, when they got home, Atsumu’s stomach growling like a feral beast because he had not the slightest idea what basic self-care was and hadn’t eaten the whole day, Osamu made them both onigiri. Atsumu sat in the kitchen, watching him.

Perhaps that was how it would be like from now on, both of them watching each other from the sides.

When Osamu boards the train back towards Osaka, he watches the buildings roll away outside, giving way to the countryside and open fields, then to green sloping hills and eventually, long winding tunnels. In the window, the reflections of the black cap sitting on his head and the plain black shirt he’s wearing seem to fade into the darkness of the tunnel outside; when the train emerges from the tunnel’s endless hold, they vanish into the light of the setting sun.

His phone pings.

 **_Dickhead_ **  
_Thanks for coming  
_ _See ya next Wed_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Asahi Wolves are based off the real-life V-League team Wolf Dogs Nagoya.   
> Wing Arena Kariya is the real-life home arena of another V-League team, JTEKT Stings, and is an actual venue used in the V-League.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place in Nov 2018, 4 years after Chapter 1.

When the Jackals arrive at the Kamei Arena, Atsumu comes over to the stall, just like he does every single game that Osamu works. But he's not alone this time, nor is he with Bokuto, as he had been the last few times. In fact, Bokuto is nowhere in sight and Atsumu has one arm slung over Hinata Shouyou's shoulders.

It has been slightly under three months since he last saw Atsumu in person, since he’s been busy with preparations for the Kyoto branch, and Atsumu’s been busy with training for the season, but there’s something different about his brother that Osamu can’t put his finger on.

He doesn’t have a chance to linger on the thought, because Atsumu saunters over to lean smugly on Osamu’s tabletop display fridge. “Yah! Look who I brought!”

“Shrimpy-kun,” Osamu says out of reflex. “Been a while, welcome back. ‘Sumu wouldn’t shut up ‘boutja when ya joined the team.”

“Oi,” Atsumu says, even as Hinata beams a sunny smile and says, “Osamu-san! Atsumu-san told me you make the bestest onigiri in the whole of Japan! What’s your recommendation? Could you save one for us after the match!”

 _Oh_ , Osamu lets the cocky smile creep slowly over his face as he looks at Atsumu, who _totally_ flushes. “Is that so? That’s not what he usually says. ‘Sumu loves the tuna mayo. You can have his if ya like.”

At the threat, Atsumu roars in outrage. “Ya wouldn’t dare!”

The call came in when Osamu was lying on his bed reading a novel that Kita-san had recommended the last time they met up for a meal with Suna and Aran. Osamu glanced over at the caller ID on his LINE, and had half a mind to ignore it but for the fact that it was half past ten on a Wednesday night. Atsumu _never_ called on weekdays, and certainly never at this hour; ever since he went pro, he’d gotten even stricter about getting his full eight hours every day. Didn’t do jack shit for the eye bags, but between the two of them, someone had to age gracefully, and it wasn’t Atsumu.

Anyway, the point was, there was a less than 0% chance that it was an emergency, which meant that Osamu had to pick up. He carefully bookmarked the page, then answered.

“Ya better have a damn good reason—”

“‘Samu!” Osamu quirked an eyebrow at the interruption. He sounded chipper. Too chipper for half past ten. He recognised the giddy laugh in Atsumu’s voice. It was the same one that he’d heard when Atsumu made his first successful backhand toss, when Atsumu hit his first service ace with a jump floater, when they perfected their super-quick for the first time. It was a laugh he hadn’t heard in a long while — distantly, part of Osamu wondered how many of them he’d missed, in the years since he had left Atsumu’s side on the court.

Then again, it did feel like it had been a long time since he heard Atsumu this genuinely happy.

“What?”

“‘Samu, ‘Samu, yer not gunna believe who turned up for tryouts today!”

Osamu squinted at the wall at the foot of his bed. Right, today had been open tryouts for the Jackals. “I’unno, who?”

“Yer not even trying!” Atsumu complained, and Osamu rolled his eyes. Atsumu was definitely too excited to hold it back, anyway. “It was Karasuno’s shrimpy! He’s back in Japan!”

Huuuh. That _was_ a surprise. And that did make a lot of pieces fall into place, starting with Atsumu’s excitement. God knows how utterly charmed by Karasuno’s carrothead his brother had been in their last year of high school, going as far as to watch the Miyagi qualifier matches with the excuse that he was staking out the enemy. He’d been so upset when Karasuno didn’t make the Interhigh, and he’d been so exhilarated that they were placed in the same bracket and managed to play each other at the Spring High.

“‘Kay, and then?”

“I sent him the super-quick, ‘Samu!”

 _And he hit it_ , Osamu filled in the blank himself. _Of course he did_. Something twisted in his chest, as though something that had once been _theirs_ was dislodging and falling out.

Instead, he sat up a little straighter on his bed. “And?”

There is a story that dates back to more than half their lives ago. Osamu remembers it clearly, because Atsumu had bought Osamu an onigiri after practice, because he was feeling ‘nice’ after being appointed official setter of their middle school team. He had totally been rubbing salt into 9-year-old Osamu’s wounds, but Osamu remembers this day because of the onigiri. It was a soy sauce tuna mayo onigiri. Atsumu had bought himself a plain tuna mayo one. Similar enough, but so very different.

They had been walking home from the convenience store, chowing down the onigiri, when Atsumu said with his cheeks stuffed, “‘Shamu, now that I’m shetter and ya a sphiker, we can go anywhere we wanna go.”

“Ya need a team, dumbass,” still-upset-but-somewhat-placated-by-free-onigiri Osamu had said. “Can’t play any game without a team.”

“‘Samu! I don’t need any team when I just gotta have ya! If ya hit all the balls I toss at ya then we’re gonna win.”

Osamu rolls his eyes a little at the memory, even as he wraps up the tuna mayo onigiri carefully in plastic and places it into the fridge. Atsumu and Hinata have left to prepare for the game, promising to see him later.

He understands the smile on Atsumu’s face, the moment he sends the toss up to Hinata. It’s a beautiful toss, clean and perfect, and Hinata straight-up soars to it. He doesn’t jump the same way he used to in high school anymore — he flies higher, faster, like his fledgling wings have finally spread to their true beauty.

Anyone would dream of tossing to a spiker like that. Most of all his brother.

Nearing the end of high school, Osamu found himself lying in bed some nights, unable to sleep while Atsumu snored away in the bunk below. Would it be arrogant of him to think that his brother’s arsenal would be weakened by his decision to not go pro?

Atsumu was objectively an excellent setter, who always let his spikers take the spotlight. But his tosses were not always easy, and Atsumu was simultaneously the easiest and also the harshest on his spikers. He would not be helpless without Osamu, that was for sure, but it was hard to think he would be at his best.

Objectively speaking, Osamu knew he was probably the only one of two people in Japan who would ever be able to spike Atsumu’s super-quick toss. The other one being Hinata Shouyou, all the way in Miyagi. There had been no word on where Karasuno’s monster duo would be going, though the general assumption was that they would both be trying for the V-League and U21. There was a slim chance Hinata and Atsumu would cross paths on the circuit, that was for sure.

But there had always been more to the name of the Miya Twins than just being an elite setter-spiker duo with freaky synchronisation.

There was an advantage they had that together almost no other pro players would ever: a setter who could spike, and a spiker who could set. They had spent enough weekends over the years just playing 2-on-2 at the neighbourhood court; him setting for Atsumu and Atsumu spiking for him was as easy as breathing for them. It allowed for a flexibility on the court that had helped them out of many messy receives and had earned them many victories.

A spiker who could hit Atsumu’s super-quick was rare. A spiker who could toss a super-quick to Atsumu? It sounded arrogant to say so, but Osamu wasn’t sure if Atsumu would ever find anyone to replace that.

Romero from the Adlers is really a piece of work, Osamu thinks as he watches the game progress. Even from this distance, it’s clear that Romero is sending pinpoint serves at the Jackals on every rotation, testing out their individual defence capabilities. It’s not easy to withstand that kind of stress, much less on a court with all eyes on you.

This round, it’s Atsumu he’s targeting.

Obviously, Atsumu receives it, but that makes him first touch which is immediately a problem for the Jackals since they’re now out of formation and need to send it over the net before they can regroup.

Before Osamu can so much as blink, there’s a flash of orange dashing across the court, and the ball is making a perfect arc in the air —

Towards Atsumu.

Atsumu jumps and sends the ball home to stunned silence around the court, then Hinata’s barrelling towards him for a high-five. They’re cheering, that much Osamu can tell, but the sound has long been drowned out by the roar of the audience.

In the background, the commentators are yelling — “What was _that_! Opposite hitter Hinata Shouyou sent a perfect quick towards setter Miya Atsumu, and Miya spiked it home before the Adlers could react! They definitely didn’t see that coming!”

Osamu feels something unclench in his chest. 

On the big screen, the camera zooms in on Hinata and Atsumu, who are now exchanging high-fives with the rest of their team. Atsumu is wearing the biggest smile Osamu has seen in _years_.

After the match is over and they’re done packing up, he gets his staff to bring the logistics to the van, while excusing himself to drop off the onigiri with the Jackals’ managers. The whole team and their staff know him well enough now, since he sets up at every other match they play — sharing the same name and face as their setter is great for business, since he gets to milk all variations of the “Is that Miya Atsumu?!”, “It’s the other half of the Miya twins!”, and the “It’s Onigiri Miya!” hype.

“Miya-san,” their manager greets with a smile when he knocks on the dressing room door, letting him in easily. “Are you looking for Atsumu-kun? He’s currently changing out.”

“Nah, just droppin’ this off for him,” Osamu says, handing the man the bag of onigiri. “It’s on his tab, by the way.”

“Sure,” the manager says, eyeing the figure on the receipt placed prominently at the top without further comment. “It was a pleasure seeing you today, Miya-san.”

“Nah, ‘s good, they played a nice game. Yer new spiker’s good.”

“Well thanks!” Atsumu says from behind him, slinging a heavy arm over his shoulder and Osamu sighs. The weight immediately disappears when Atsumu lays eyes on the bag their manager’s placed on the table. “Ooh, ‘s that our onigiri!”

“Myaa-Sam’s onigiri?!” another voice hollers, then Bokuto’s bouncing in through the door with Hinata next to him and Sakusa trailing behind. “Yo, Myaa-Sam!”

“Hello to you too,” Osamu says. They all tear into the bag — Sakusa grabs the first one then extricates himself from the crowd with a look of disdain. With the way they flock around the bag like ravenous animals, they look like a pack of jackals. Totally unlike what the general public would imagine of a pro team.

Osamu’s about to make his escape when he comes face-to-face with Hinata, who has half an onigiri already stuffed in his mouth. “Thish ish the besh, Oshamu-shan!”

“Thanks, Shrimpy. Ya played well out there. Brazil did ya wonders.”

Hinata beams up at him, all full of rice and sunny. “Nuh, Atsumu-san’s the one who did it all! You’re so lucky to have such an amazing twin, Osamu-san! And he always tells me how amazing you were when you were still playing and it makes me feel like I gott—”

“Whatcha goin’ off about, Shouyou-kun?” Atsumu says, hand unmoving from where it’s clapped firmly over Hinata’s mouth. He is not meeting Osamu’s eyes, and Osamu has the feeling that there’s a lot that Atsumu’s not been telling him about.

Like the way that Hinata clearly has Atsumu wrapped around his little finger, just like the way he had with Kageyama, so much that he’s spilled so many truths to Hinata. Like that odd look of _guilt_ that’s on Atsumu’s face for no reason at all.

He really doesn’t want to deal with this right now, not with the entirety of what is essentially Atsumu’s second extended family in the same room as them.

“T’day,” he says instead, because when it comes down to it, he knows he’ll always be the one who’s more honest. He looks at Hinata, who’s stopped fighting Atsumu’s hold and is staring at him with wide eyes.

He looks at Atsumu. They’re only fourteen minutes apart in age, but right now, Atsumu looks so much younger, that usual unfettered confidence replaced by something that would almost be _nervous_.

“Ya sure had fun t’day, huh.”

Atsumu blinks once, then smiles wide. It is all the answer Osamu needs.

**Author's Note:**

> LOOK I JUST HAD SO MANY FEELINGS ABOUT THE TWINS AFTER CHAPTER 381
> 
> (I have written several other post-timeskip Atsumu fics, please check out the rest of this fic series if you liked this one!)
> 
> [tumblr (rielity)](https://rielity.tumblr.com/) | [twitter (noyabeans)](https://twitter.com/noyabeans) | [haikyuu writing journal](https://noyabeans.dreamwidth.org/)
> 
> you can also read my [writing reflection](https://noyabeans.dreamwidth.org/25902.html) for this story!


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